


The Birth of Christ

by Cirilla9



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Brutality, Canon-Typical Violence, Christmas Fluff, Historical Inaccuracy, I'm Sorry, Minor Character Death, Murder, Pyromania, Ragnarssons - Freeform, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slaughter, Vikings' style, ivar is a madman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-12 20:06:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12967401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cirilla9/pseuds/Cirilla9
Summary: Christmas fic, Vikings' style





	The Birth of Christ

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sidomira](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sidomira/gifts).



> It was created partly as the opposition to many Christmas Fluff fics that surfaced on tumblr lately. Because this is so not their ideology...
> 
> Anyway, here is how they'd behaved imo. Have a nice (drastic) lecture :)

The fire buzzed pleasantly into the hearth, warming the inside of the cottage, guarding the household from the biting cold outside. The Christmas tree stood in a corner of the room, adorned with colorful apples and cones and sweets for children. Candles lighted several pine’s branches, making it seem even merrier, almost gleaming with joy.

The sound of carols singing by several different types of voices mingled in the blithe atmosphere of the cozy cottage. Twelve dishes waited on the covered with white cloth table already or were heated onto the oven under the careful eye of an older lady.

A small crowd of people gathered by the window, each person looked up at the darkening heaven.

\- There! – said the man finally, pointing a bright spot in the sky. – The first star. C’mon, let’s sit to the table, children. It’s the time to start the dinner.

Little ones fell to the table like the pack of puppies, laughing and impatient for the feast. The young girl, however, remained by the window, looking into the white distance. The older one approached her.

\- Come as well, Ann.

\- He was supposed to come, - said Ann. – He said he will only get the tree for his family and come over here for dinner.

\- Perhaps he choose to stay with his own family. You’re not one yet, he’s only your fiancé.

Ann shook her head, making blond locks jump around her face.

\- He promised me. What if something happened? Maybe we shall go look for him? What if the wolves got him?

\- He’s got axe with himself, he’ll handle the wolves. Don’t worry. It’s probably as I said, he’s at home already. You’ll meet each other during midnight Mass. Now come to the table, child, as your father asked, and listen to the Word of God as your grandpa will recite it. And if John will show up, there is always an additional plate for an unexpected guest.

 

* * *

 

 

About an hour earlier, when the pale winter sun was still visible lowly above the horizon, John marched through the woods with an axe threw over his shoulder. He walked whistling festive melody and looked around for the pine that’d be perfect for a Christmas tree to his house.

Finally he spotted adequate one, not too high, with branches all around the trunk, hanging nearly to the very ground. He shook the pine to shake off the snowy fluff covering it and set to work.

John swung the axe in rhythmical pace, hitting the trunk low. Soon he warmed up from the effort and was breathing hard despite the frosty temperature.

Before one blow he noticed a movement with the corner of his eye and the axe nearly fled from his grip.

\- Jesus Christ! – he called as the lean figure of a man came seemingly from the nowhere. – You’ve scared me. I thought there is some devil playing tricks on me! God bless you, stranger, and may the peace be with you.

The newcomer didn’t answer to his greeting, only smiled somewhat weirdly, wolfishly. He was young, didn’t have any beard yet, his hair were plaited finely.

\- Are you hungry? – asked John. – There is a dinner waiting in my house. On the night of the Eve everyone will share with you.

A twig broke somewhere to the left and John whirled around, only to see there were more strange people coming from all sides, surrounding him. They were clad in leather and furs and each one armed with a hatchet and a shield.

\- What is it you want from me? – asked John nervously, looking around like a rabbit surrounded by wolves.

They didn’t make him wait long to find out the answer.

 

* * *

 

 

The muffled screams sounded loud in the white pristine silence of the snowed forest as their prisoner, kneeling and tied to the tree, cried out behind the gag forced in his mouth. Ivar was cutting him with passion, craving the pagan signs into his flesh. He grinned like a madman whenever a drop of blood splashed as far as to reach his face.

The prisoner had been stripped naked and he was almost as white as the snow around him now, from cold and loss of blood.

Ubbe sighed.

\- What? – snarled Ivar at him.

\- Are we even sure there is any holy day nearby?

\- I told you, - said Hvitserk, playing with his bow. – He spoke about eve.

He rose, knocked an arrow, drew the bow and shoot. Prisoner screamed behind the gag, trashed and closed his eyes as the arrow split the trunk inches from his face.

\- Perhaps he’s ready to talk? – suggested Ubbe.

Ivar made a face but gave a sign to one of their men to pull off the cloth that silenced the captive.

\- And? Are you ready to talk now, Christian? – asked Ivar.

\- Kill me, - rasped prisoner. – Please.

Ivar hummed.

\- Uhm, maybe I will. Later. After you’ve told us what we want to know.

\- I can’t, - wailed the captured man. – I can’t betray them, I- no, wait!! – he shouted as Ivar gave the sign to put the gag back in.

\- W-wait… There is a great festival starting today. We celebrate the birth of our Lord.

Ivar snickered. The prisoner, despite his fear, looked at him askance. The Viking reached for the cross the other wore around his neck, with the tiny crucified wooden figure attached to it.

\- Are you talking about this Lord? – taunted Ivar. – Looks to me like he’s dead already.

He tore the strap on which the cross hanged from the man’s neck and threw it to the blood stained snow beneath them. The prisoner opened his mouth to protest but one look from Ivar silenced him.

\- So the festival begins today? – prompted Ubbe, bringing the conversation to the right track again.

The captive looked at him above Ivar’s shoulder.

\- Tonight everyone is dining together in their houses. At midnight they’ll all go to the church for a mass to spend this special time of a year together… - his voice broke. - Why are you doing this? We could have feed you, share our resources- ouch!

He howled as Ivar punched him in a stomach and shut up, catching a breath, trying to curl over but the ties held him firmly.

The three brothers looked at each other, understanding falling among them without any words needed.

 

* * *

 

 

\- Please, kill me, - repeated John, as the heathens made themselves ready to depart and attack his village.

They’ve lost interest in him as soon as he passed them the useful information. Now no one showed a sign he was willing to end his suffering.

The crippled one crawled toward him. He frightened John the most. He was the one drawing clear pleasure from torturing him earlier and now the malice shown again in his unnatural, piercing, too bright blue eyes.

\- I think not, - he said cockily, nearing his painted with black war paints face too close to John’s. – I think I’ll leave you here to freeze in the night, all the while hearing the screams of those you’ve betrayed.

 

 

 

* * *

* * *

 

They came in the middle of the night, slinking in the darkness, quite as wolves with glowing eyes and with murder intent in their minds.

They bore no light with them and no sound betrayed their presence. They crept to the temple itself inside which the village folk had gathered, singing and enjoying themselves, unaware of the danger lurking outside.

The Christians were worshipping their God in that joyful date of his birthday, oblivious to what awaited them; helpless like lambs gathered for slaughter.

The man in the chariot nodded at two dark figures and the Northmen warriors stepped forward to barricade the door. If someone from the inside heard the clanking of the doors, must took it for the wind slamming in them for they did not reacted in any way. Soon they’ll know…

Torches were drawn, fires alighted, burning brands put to wooden walls of the church. Old wood, eaten by borers, caught fire easily. First the flames licked lower desks tentatively, then it got bolder and soon embraced the whole construction. Carols from the inside turned into the bloodcurdling shouts. Screams mingled with the roar of fire. Flames reflected in the eyes of attackers gathered around.

The doors banged once, twice. Under the third onslaught they gave up under the force of desperate crowd. Coughing, choking, few even burning people spilled from the building, pushing and trampling each other.

They burst into the promising cold of the night, into the snowy place before church…

…where the slaughter already awaited them.

Vikings stood in semicircle, shields and hatchets in their hands. First arrows flew from behind the shield-wall, knocking down first disoriented victims. The crowd of Christians panicked, they were unarmed for no one bore a weapon to the holy place of God and unprepared for no one started brawls during sacred time.

The figure in long robes waded through the dense crowd, walking toward the aggressors with the cross raised high in his hands before him. He called to them for peace and mercy.

Ivar threw a hatchet in his direction. The blade crashed into priest’s chest, knocking him down onto his back.

The other took it as a signal for starting a battle and arrows spilled onto the defenseless Christians once more. Hatchets and axes raised and fell onto the screaming people. Vikings slaughtered men, women and children alike.

Flames danced in moving steel, blood splattered the snow below. Swords cut, spears stabbed, halberds hit. Warriors screamed, elated by battle; their victims screamed from fear and pain.

Among the splashing blood, in a snow red from it, Ivar crawled toward the chosen prey. When he get to him, the priest were still alive, though his breath came wheezing from his pierced chest and bubbled blood stained his mouth. He moaned weakly as Ivar retrieved his axe.

Not wasting the time to finish him off (which would also ruin all the fun), Ivar proceeded to put into action the idea he begun to have after hearing out Hvitserk’s relation from meeting the Christian in the woods. The thoughts clarified now in a simple wicked plan. With the thick ropes, those same which Christians had used to draw conifers from the forest that day, he bound priest’s legs tightly together. Then, taking the other end of the line with him, he got through the corpses and running people to his mean of transportation. Attaching the rope there also and checking its endurance, he set himself into the chariot and urged the horse to ride.

The faithful white mare started a little slower than usual because of increased weight but soon she run swiftly as ever.

\- Ha! – cried Ivar at her to go faster yet, grinning and turning back to see his victim.

Priest’s body was dragged behind the chariot, on a long rope, hopping on every bump on its way but otherwise restless as a ragdoll. Ivar wondered if he was dead already and felt a little disappointed by the possibility, perhaps he should have not took off the weapon that fast… But then he noticed how Hvitserk and few other warriors stared at him and he laughed openly, wallowing in their admiration. He let out a war cry, cracking the reins and feeling dash of cold air onto his face and the pride from being respected and feared. Those were the moments he loved the most in his life, he decided, riding his trophy around, as euphoria filled him.

Hvitserk looked away from his younger brother as he saw the glimpse of pretty face somewhere near, surrounded by blonde locks. He went after her and grabbed her, killing some elder man that got in his way. Maybe he was trying to protect her as the girl screamed when Hvitserk pierced him with a sword. She fought back but he overpowered her quickly and knocked flat to the ground, lifting up her skirts. He took her there and then, onto the battlefield, dirty with blood of her kin, with cries resounding around. Compared to the dying men, she cried rather quietly.

After he was done, he left her unharmed. He got all he wanted from her and didn’t really care what will happen to her next.

Ubbe walked among his howling brethren, carrying a sword himself but not making much use of it besides sometimes ending one’s suffering. He checked the next cottages, marveled at the fact that they all kept pine or spruce inside the household and that the trees were dressed as finely as rich ladies. They also seemed to live on a very wealthy land, judging by all the dines. Surely they didn’t eat as good as during the religious celebration on a daily manner but the fact itself that they able to prepare all these dishes were tell-telling. Ubbe doubted such feast could be arranged in their homeland. He would have to bring it up in the talks with his brothers, perhaps this will convince them at last that living here was better idea than constantly raiding.

In the next house he came upon the almost totally unconsumed duck, warm and smelly with spices yet. He tore off one leg when someone had come running at him and he swung his blade automatically, too lately noticing it was just an older woman, perhaps the one who had prepared the food. A shame, he judged, as he bit into the duck’s leg, she would made a great kitchen slave. Her body lying on the floor was such a waste.

As he went out, the Northmen were ending the massacre. More houses stood in flames, a great bonfire were alit in the center of the once-village. Men ate the leftovers from Christians’ feast, drunk the wine prepared for future days of celebration.

The day that was supposed to be pure joy for Christians, the anniversary of their God coming to this world, turned into a resemblance of Hell. Fires burned everything and everyone, with the malicious dark cruel figures wandering among that chaos like demons straight from the underworld. Suffering people’s screams were like howls of condemned souls. Instead of feasting in celebration of Christmas, the Christians were slayed.

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

The next day, on the date of Jesus’ birth, bishop Heahmund stood among the burned ruins of the Christian village. He replayed in his mind all the sights he saw upon arriving here: the frozen body of a tortured man pinned to the trunk close by in the woods; a young woman laying lifelessly with her skirts thrown high up, obviously raped; a body of the priest so desecrated his function was recognizable only because of dirty scraps of robes clinging to him.

Heahmund clenched his gauntleted hand onto the sword hilt, promising silently he will avenge it all.

The God gave them the fifth commandment and the rule to love the neighbor but the people capable of such atrocities were animals, not his brothers-in-God.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I am aware Christmas tree is a much later German invention but without it it wouldn't feel like Christmas fic.


End file.
